Standing on that hilltop in Waibstadt, Germany, I have to say that I indeed felt like I was returning, even though I had never been there. This great-great-grandfather whose grave I stood at shared his name with me – as I discovered he did with his own grandfather, and with his grandson, my Grandpa Irwin, whose birthday is tomorrow. This succession of Yitzchak Kellers made me feel a little bit like a cat with if not nine lives then at least four. Yes, his life was a blank slate to me but, oddly, chillingly, a slate with my name on it.
Read MoreFirst Jewish Lesson: Blessings of a Broken Heart
It's a good story. About how real we feel when we are brokenhearted, sometimes the most real we ever feel. And how close to God, how in dialog we can be, in those moments of suffering, in the moments when we groan.
Read MoreGrieving Orlando
And through all of that, we believed that by our labor and our suffering and our defiance we would make a better world for the young people who would come after us. That one day young people would be able to come out without fear of rejection; they'd be able to work in their chosen professions; they'd be able to live where they want and love who they want and be who they want. They could find love and even get married. And above all, they'd be safe.
Read MoreThe Bittersweet Exchange
The papers are signed. The inspections inspected. The repairs repaired. The movers have loaded 42 boxes, 2 suitcases and 3 pieces of furniture onto a truck in the driveway, drawing to a close the life of the Keller family on Osceola Avenue.
Read MoreSpirograph, Leviticus, and the Cycles of our Lives
When Lynn and I work in the Chicago basement, it doesn't clearly feel like a cycle, but more often like one, unending difficult state. A jumble of reverence and frustration and ambition and despair. We look at all the holy relics with which my mother was entrusted and ultimately burdened. We sit inside of it and wish it had a cyclical quality. After all, even Sisyphus has his "up" moments. Where are ours?
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